


Song of Songs

by Thimblerig



Series: turning pieces and broken glass [3]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Aftermath of Torture (non-explicit), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Dead Character, Canon Obnoxious Character, F/M, Gen, Happy Endings are Boss, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple is Married, Panic Attacks, Trauma Recovery, Young Love is Kinda Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2780387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of Songs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyviel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyviel/gifts).



> Summary, section titles, and the poetry at the end come from the Song of Songs/Song of Solomon, some of which is very romantic and some of which is... not. You were warned.
> 
> (If you are reading this apart from the others in the series - Khalid has survived the start of BG2 but is not in an entirely comfortable emotional place right now. One of his reactions to stress is temporary mutism.)

_I_

_who is she who looketh forth as the morning? (terrible as an army with banners)_

Jaheira is skilled in several weapons: scimitars, a good stout club, her own teeth and claws when she shapes herself to the animal kind. But Khalid suspects her favourite is a staff of hardened wood - functional in battle, easy to replace, and a friend to a long-walking traveller. And it has also this virtue, that it beats the ground with her every step.

His wife walks... briskly... through the Bridge District in the early morning, step step _clash_. It is the cool grey hour when the prostitutes have gone to bed and the market vendors are setting out their booths. The smells of the fruit and flower stalls, laid out all fresh, and that of baking bread, almost cover the odour of sewage from the river below. Khalid paces with her, stride long and easy on the even cobblestones, with his thumbs tucked in a battered leather belt. Of the gear they have scavenged, he has yet to find a helmet that fits right, and the breeze feels odd on the back of his neck and his new-cropped hair.

Step, step, _clash._

"Have I ever told that girl how to live her life? Not I! I am moderate in my opinions and tactful in expressing them."

Khalid refrains from comment.

Step, step, _clash._

" 'But he's so tall' is _not_ a measured judgement of character, Khalid!"

Khalid grins a little, as he steps around a yellow-eyed street cat.

Step, step, _clash._

"There is bad blood in that family."

Khalid hums.

"Well, of course it is pleasant to be wooed. But is this really an appropriate ti-"

Khalid stops her with a hand against her arm and she turns to him. He nods to a sturdy, green-doored house, with an odd scratch above the door-knob. Jaheira frowns at its shuttered windows.  "I hope that old Belgrade is home," she says.  "Though it is early in the year for him to travel south..."

He touches her arm again. The sun clears the tiled roofs and strokes dabs of red fire from Jaheira's mane of hair. She puts two fingers lightly on his throat, and tilts her head to the side. Khalid tucks a narrow braid behind her tapered ear. She leans forward and kisses him and he smiles against her lips.

"'Ere! Pike off!" someone shouts nearby, a small ragged figure wrapped in three leather tool-belts. "We bought the concession to rob this place fair an' square. Now can we have some _privacy_? Is that too much to ask, sir-and-missus? If we're not _troubling_ you, that is."

Another admits, sadly, "I can't pick a lock when someone's watching. It makes me come over all funny."

Jaheira steps forward and hefts her staff, letting Khalid ease to the side and unsheathe his sword. She smiles wide - or at least, her white teeth show clearly. "Then let us discuss this, we four.  We will discuss it like gentle folk..."

 

_II_

_they smote me, they wounded me_

The vault under the de'Arnise Keep reeks of acid, naptha, and troll-blood, and echoes to the high ceiling with voices joyous in victory. Khalid takes a moment to breathe as his companions haul corpses heavy as broken trees into a pile to burn, and their employer riffles through her scroll-case for one last fire spell. He winces as cracked ribs bite his side; his sweating fingers burn from the bow-string.

In the quiver, three arrows (glass heads, one cracked). He sets the damaged one aside before its acid can ruin his gear and loosens his sword in its scabbard. Battles aren't always... over, when he thinks they're over, and it's best to be cautious. There's a clot of darkness beneath the squat altar at the far end - he paces carefully toward it, as behind him the heat of a fireball flares.

The old lord of the keep lies still, his broken limbs frozen. He must have been red haired in his youth; there are traces of colour in his sparse grey hair and the remains of his beard. His open eye is a milky blue, staring at nothing now.

Khalid should get a blanket to cover the man. A cloak. The daughter should not have to see this.

He wonders if the de'Arnise had welcomed death in the end, and craved release into the sleep that comes. Or if the man had hoarded each breath and clutched them like a miser's gems, trusting that the help his daughter sought would come in time.

Khalid should

He

He is crouched on the floor and his arms cover his head but he cannot hide and all he can hear is rasping breath.

Warmth comes against his side and he flinches away. "Hush," says his wife. "Hush. Turn your eyes away now."

From the distance he hears an aggrieved, "Oh, what is it _now?_ "

Jaheira raises her voice - "Your family shield, Delryn, I shall _feed_ it to you."

Moving slowly as sunlight crawling across a shadowed rock, she puts her hand on his shoulder, and then her arms around him.

He clutches her.

 

_III_

_who is this that cometh up from the wilderness?  (leaning upon her beloved)_

It is dark in the forest, and cold, but the fire throws warmth to them all.

He sets himself on a great tree root and leans against the trunk, just comfortably, and Jaheira rests against him. He picks up a braid of her tawny-red hair and works at it, unbinding the twists and unpicking tangles with a wooden comb, as her stiff shoulders ease and her head droops forward.

Across the fire talk drifts.

_"'Tis a most stately flower, my lady. Its color has -"_

_"It isn't pink."_

_"You would like a pink flower, fair one? I will fetch you a pink flower forthwith! Er... tomorrow?"_

_"No, no! This one is lovely. Someone got me a flower!"_

Khalid breathes deep the smells of leaf-mold and burning resin, and feels the coolness of the evening air against his face. He lowers his head and whispers into Jaheira's ear, in the language of his youth: _"Thy hair is l-like goats..."_

Jaheira gasps and straightens, and her shoulders begin to shake. He ducks forward and peers at her face worriedly, but it is only that she is laughing, and trying desperately to do so quietly, biting her lips that the others at the camp might not hear.

He continues, _"M-m-may I just add that thy teeth are very sheep-like?"_ and she doubles over,

Finally, blinking hard, she half turns and twines an arm around his neck. _"O, thy knotted tongue."_   He runs his finger lightly down the length of her nose and she sneezes. _"Canst have more poetry, dear one?"_

He kisses her with the kisses of his mouth...

 

_fini_

**Author's Note:**

> No, seriously, if I'd had a chance to have Jaheira say: "I am a wall, and my breasts like towers," I would probably have gone there. Alas, the opportunity could not be found.
> 
>  _"I hope that old Belgrade is home," she says._ \- Belgrade is a Harper colleague of Jaheira's, who is murdered by Baron Ployer off-screen. There is an empty house in the Bridge District that contains traps and a magical musical instrument - not much of a stretch to connect the two, so I'm connecting.
> 
>  _green-doored house, with an odd scratch above the door-knob_ \- obligatory Tolkien reference squared away...
> 
> Anomen's lines are adapted from canon dialogue.


End file.
